


Pretty Things

by erikaehm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikaehm/pseuds/erikaehm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What hits him is one Lydia Martin – every sleek, sneaky eyed, strawberry blond inch of her perfection, that is. Hard. In the chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Things

Stiles has absolutely no idea what hits him. Which is, point in fact, a total fucking lie. What hits him is one Lydia Martin – every sleek, sneaky eyed, strawberry blond inch of her perfection, that is. Hard. In the chest. Which is why he’s now on his back, in his bed and _oh my God_.

 

He can practically feel Erica’s smirk, even though she’s still hovering in his windowsill like some creeper. Which she is. Totally. Does Derek do classes on how to be a complete and utter stalker, or does it just come naturally to wolves? He starts to make a mental note, telling himself to ask later, but then Lydia’s teeth are nibbling along his chin, down towards his throat, and yeah. No. It doesn’t matter.

 

“What?” He gurgles. Erica has to slink over to the bed in order to strip him down, getting frustrated part way through and shredding his shirt with her freakish wolf claws.

 

“It’s a reward.” The wolf says. She’s smiling now– not the self deprecating look she gets when she remembers her old life, or the coy little smirk that her new one has brought. It’s genuine and gentle, softening her features and making her look sweet. He thinks that maybe, if he’d known she liked him before, that they would have made each other happy.

 

His brain short circuits when Lydia pinches one of his nipples between manicured nails, rolling away the hurt with the pad of her thumb afterwards. “W-why?” Not that he _shouldn’t_ be rewarded. Or that sexy girls shouldn’t be interested because he’s. Well, he’s Stiles and he is gorgeous and awesome and...yeah, okay. Okay.

 

“Because you deserve it.” Lydia’s using her no nonsense tone, unzipping his jeans. He’s glad he actually took his shoes off at the front door today. “And because I like having pretty things.” Erica lifts his hips enough that the other girl can pull his pants down, and he wonders if he should maybe start helping out a little more.

 

Apparently not, though, since Erica grabs his hands and forces them to his headboard, hissing in his ears to hold on tight.

 

“Pretty things?” He blushes halfway down his chest, cock smacking against his belly, when the shewolf nibbles along the shell of his ear.

 

“Yes, Stiles. Pretty things.” Lydia gives Erica a meaningful look, eyes settling on cleavage with a grin. “And you are a very, very pretty thing.” She ducks her head to flick her tongue against a freckle, dark brown against the pale skin of his thigh. “This is what you wanted, right?”

 

Technically, he wants to be with her, but you know what? This works too. This...totally fucking works.

 

He nods.

 

“Good. Keep your hands there.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder, out of her face, dipping her head down to drag the tip of her tongue over his cock. A lazy pulse of precum drizzles out, and she chuckles, deep and throaty.

 

“Hey there sunshine, eyes up here.” Erica taps his cheek in a light smack, twice, and he forces himself to drop his head onto the pillow, to watch her instead. Her eyes are dancing with amusement, and he’s never noticed before, but the color is almost an exact mirror of his own. “There we go.” She drops a hand to his chest, thumb nail scraping light over his still hardened nipple, and he keens.

 

In the back of his head he remembers telling Scott about this awesome dream with the girls and – yeah, he’s like. Ninety nine point nine percent sure that Erica, or more likely, _Isaac_ was listening in and spilled the beans. Which is turning out to be a good thing.

 

The shewolf tilts his head to stare into his eyes, and he shivers; her hair falls around them, curtaining both their faces until his world falls into a strange, gold hued place. It’s nice here, under Erica, the feel of her strong – capable – hands, stroking down his chest, nails scraping through his pubes. He sighs through his nose, mouth falling slack, and she takes the moment to kiss him.

 

She tastes the way Lydia’s lipgloss smells – maybe he took a creeper class too, okay? – and it’s slick. Soft. Stiles moans against her mouth and one hand rises to cup his cheek, Erica whispering for him to hold on tight. He flexes his grip against the headboard, sure his hands are white knuckled by now.

 

Everything feels good, and nothing is hurting – especially not when Lydia finally stops licking, opening her mouth to suck his cockhead in, tongue flickering against his slit. She laughs around him when he bucks, thwarted by Erica’s freakish werewolf strength, and the vibrations make his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh my God.” He whines into Erica’s face, tilting his head for another kiss, attempting to wipe her smirk away.

 

“Can I –“

 

“No.” Lydia pulls off his cock with an obscene pop. “Stay where you are.” Her nails tickle along the thick vein pulsing in his dick. “You’re close, hm?” She presses a kiss to his head, jerking him slowly. Her hands are soft.

 

“I can’t – I...Sorry.” His whine is high in the back of his throat as he arches his chest, hips still held tight to the bed. He messes all over her hand – pearly white slipping over her nails, standing out against her purple polish – and his own chest, gasping for breath he suddenly can’t seem to catch.

 

They work him down from it slowly; soft touches all over his body, lips whispering across his heated skin. He’s expecting them to leave now that he’s had his reward – and really, Erica? She’s the canine here, she should be getting ‘treats’, not him – but they don’t. He’s only vaguely aware of the blond stretching out beside him, leg over his hips. Her breathing evens out until they’re doing it in sync, and he knows she’s falling asleep.

 

Lydia settles on his other side, the edge of a calculus book nipping into the flesh over his ribs.

 

“What –“

 

“Shush, Stiles. Time for bed.”

 

He purses his lips, wants to argue, but Lydia just looks amused so he gives up and turns his head and presses his face into her thigh.


End file.
